


Gain Our Freedom When We Learn

by torakowalski



Category: Pride (2014)
Genre: Found Family, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:13:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28112964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/pseuds/torakowalski
Summary: “It’s not exactly a date,” Cliff said, awkwardly. “It’s a day trip with the Poetry Society.”
Relationships: Cliff & Gethin (Pride), Cliff & Jonathan (Pride), Gethin/Jonathan (Pride)
Comments: 21
Kudos: 98
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Gain Our Freedom When We Learn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChronicBookworm](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChronicBookworm/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, ChronicBookworm!
> 
> Rewatching this film made me so happy so thank you so much for requesting it.

It must be marvellous to live in a bookshop, Cliff thought as Jonathan unlocked the door to the flat above _Gay’s the Word_ and ushered him inside.

“Come in, come in, give me your coat, shoes over there.” Jonathan hurried him along, barely giving him time to appreciate the warmth of the hallway in comparison to the chilly January air outside.

Cliff took off his shoes and hung his coat where he’d been directed, careful not to knock over any of the dozens of Christmas cards that were clipped to overlapping ropes of string and pinned to every wall.

“Geth,” Jonathan called. “Gethin. I got him.”

“In here,” Gethin’s voice called from deeper in the flat, so Cliff followed Jonathan in that direction. He felt strange, walking around someone’s home in just his socks, but Jonathan was doing it, so it must be the London way.

Gethin was sitting at a small table in the kitchen, sheets of paper spread out all around him. He was frowning while he worked, and still frowning when he looked up, but that melted when he looked at Jonathan and thawed completely as he smiled at Cliff.

“Cliff,” he said, standing up and resting both hands palm down on the table. “Welcome.  
Blwyddyn Newydd Dda.”

“Blwyddyn Newydd Dda,” Cliff echoed, even though it was already the eleventh of January, well past the New Year in his opinion. 

“I know that one,” Jonathan said, moving easily around the small space to embrace Gethin and kiss his cheek. “Sorry we’re late back; some sort of signal issue on the Bakerloo Line.”

“I wasn’t worried,” said Gethin, but even Cliff, who didn’t know him very well, could tell that that was a lie. “The oven timer beeped, so I turned it down.”

“Perfect.” Jonathan pulled a bright pink tea towel out from between two cupboard doors and straightened it with a flourish before tucking it into the waistband of his jeans. “Sit yourself down, Cliff. Just need to do the sides and dinner will be ready.”

“You didn’t need to - ” Cliff started to say.

At the same time, Gethin said, “Vegetables. Lots of vegetables.”

Jonathan looked at Cliff. “Of course I needed to cook for you, you’re our guest.” Then he looked at Gethin. “There are three types of vegetables, will that do?”

“Hm,” said Gethin, but he looked mollified.

Cliff had been told to sit down and he was prepared to do that, but the question was where. “What’s all this then?” he asked, nudging the piles of paper very carefully. He was curious, but he wasn’t about to destroy a carefully organised system, even one that looked like chaos.

Gethin rubbed at his temples with his fingertips. “Customs and Exercise,” he said in tones of great disgust, “stole our books last year. I mean, the year before last. ‘84. These are the lists of everything they took and what they were worth.”

“They did what?” Cliff demanded, feeling the sort of rage rise up in him that he hadn’t felt since he was standing between teenagers and police truncheons on the picket lines.

“The bloody bastards decided we were a porn shop and raided us,” Jonathan said from over by the stove. “It was just before we met you lot. Anyway, we’re in court soon and we’re going to win.”

“Damn right you are.” Cliff lowered himself into the nearest dining chair. “What can I do to help?”

While Jonathan cooked, Cliff helped Gethin cross-reference lists of missing books so that they could be sent over to the group that owned the shop and then after that on to their lawyers. 

Gethin seemed fairly confident that they were going to win, which filled Cliff’s heart with a type of bewildered glee: he couldn’t believe he lived in a time when the courts might come down in favour of protecting something that clearly, blatantly gay.

It was good to feel as if he was helping, and the work took Cliff’s mind off what he was really here for. At least it did until dinner was ready and Jonathan made them put their papers away.

“None of that,” he said, holding a steaming dish of cottage pie threateningly over Gethin’s notebook until Gethin sighed and put it down on the floor by his chair. “We’re here to show Cliff a good time, not make him work.”

“It’s good to work,” Cliff said. “Not much of that back home, right now.”

“How are things?” Jonathan asked, taking a free chair and passing Cliff a plate so he could help himself.

“Oh, well.” Cliff had been brought up to remember that there was always someone worse off than himself. He’d also been brought up not to swear when a guest in someone’s home. “Absolute shit, if you must know.”

Jonathan smiled, though his eyes were still sympathetic. “Anything we can do?”

“Got a pit for the boys to work?” Cliff asked him. “It’s not even the lack of jobs that are getting them down, it’s the lack of purpose. There’s less and less work so more and more of them stuck at home all day, nothing to do but brood.”

“They’ll be moving away soon,” said Gethin quietly. “That’s what always happens when the work dries up. The young move away to the cities and the villages empty out.”

Cliff nodded. “It’s already happening. Dreadful for the village, of course, but no bad thing for the young ‘uns. Didn’t do you any harm, moving to London, did it?”

Gethin smiled. “I’m imaging trying to sell _Dykes to Watch Out For_ in my hometown,” he said. “It’s an interesting picture.”

“ _Plus,_ ” Jonathan said grandly. “If you hadn’t moved, you wouldn’t have met me.”

“That’s true,” Gethin agreed. “There are always some silver linings.”

“I… can’t decide if you’re saying meeting me was a silver lining or not meeting me would have been one,” Jonathan said after a pause.

Gethin widened his eyes. “Can’t you?” he asked, deadpan. “That’s a shame.”

Jonathan stared at him. Gethin stared back. After a moment, Gethin’s lips twitched and, judging by the soft thud Cliff heard, Jonathan kicked him under the table.

It was very sweet, he thought. They were very sweet. He looked down at his dinner, so that he didn’t stare at them. He was worried about just how much longing might show on his face, if he did.

“Excited about tomorrow, Cliff?” Jonathan asked, after they’d eaten in silence for a while. Cliff didn’t mind silence, but he’d learnt that Jonathan wasn’t very comfortable with it.

Cliff thought it through. It was difficult to be sure under the rolling waves of nerves, but he thought one of the feelings in his veins was excitement. “I am,” he decided. “Thank you again for letting me stay.”

“Couldn’t have you getting the train at four in the morning and being knackered for your date.”

Cliff felt his cheeks heat up, which was ridiculous. A man his age blushing. Nonsense.

“It’s not exactly a date,” he said, awkwardly. “It’s a day trip with the Poetry Society.”

Jonathan smirked at him over the rim of his glass. Cliff tried hard not to feel flustered, but largely failed. “A day trip that a certain gentleman personally asked you to come to, and _then_ asked you to stay afterwards so he could take you to dinner. And, if I’m not mistaken, this is the same gentleman you’ve been writing to since you met him at Pride.”

“Ah, leave him alone,” Gethin said. “It’s sweet.”

“Of course it’s nice!” Jonathan agreed. “If it wasn’t sweet, I wouldn’t be teasing him about it.”

Cheeks now definitely aflame, Cliff focused very hard on his dinner. The trouble with doing all of this - dating, courting, being interested in someone, whatever you wanted to call it - at pushing sixty was that he just didn’t know _how_ it was supposed to work and he didn’t know how he was supposed to react to it.

“Cliff,” Gethin said gently. “I can put a muzzle on Jonathan, if he’s really embarrassed you.”

Cliff took a deep breath and looked up. He squared his shoulders. “No,” he decided. “It’s fine. It’s… nice.”

“Nice?” Jonathan asked. “No one’s ever called me nice before.”

“Lies. My mother thinks you’re a _very_ nice young man,” Gethin told him, before turning back to Cliff. “What’s nice, sweetheart?”

_That_ was nice. Being called sweetheart by someone he wasn’t related to. Being treated with affection by two men who had no obligation to care about him at all.

“Being teased,” Cliff explained. “As if… as if this is normal.” He waved a hand around, looking for the words. He could think of a dozen poems that would express his feelings better than he could himself, but lately he’d been trying to put things into his own words, not someone else’s.

“Well it is normal,” Jonathan told him firmly. “Not average, I’ll grant you, but it’s perfectly _normal_ for one grown man to go on a date - sorry, an outing - with another. Even if one of them is Welsh.”

Gethin gave him a withering look then laughed. “And it’s better than where Jonathan took me for our first date.”

“Excuse me,” Jonathan said, sounding almost believably offended. “I took you to see a play.”

“Yes, love. A play you were _in_ , so I had to sit all alone in the stalls and watch you kiss Zoe Wanamaker.” 

Jonathan sniffed. “I was trying to impress you.”

Cliff watched the two of them interact with each other and felt his stomach ache. He’d spent his whole life alone and always thought that he was fine that way, that his nephews and his poetry and his work with the mine was all he needed.

He still didn’t think that he really _needed_ love, the way Jonathan and Gethin had it - although Rahim who he was meeting tomorrow was certainly very lovely - but it might be nice, no it might be wonderful, not to always be the lonely one.

Cliff insisted on clearing the table then went into the hall to rifle through his overnight bag for a moment. He came back with two large tins and a collection of odds and ends stuffed into a plastic shopping bag.

“From Gwen,” he said, setting down the tins. “Bakestones for you both and then some more to share with the others.”

“Bakestones?” Jonathan asked, lifting the lid.

“Welsh cakes,” Gethin translated.

Jonathan sighed, breathing in the smell of sugar and raisins and baking that filled the air the second the tin was open. “Ah, heavenly,” he said. “I wonder if they’re as good as your mother’s.”

“Your mother bakes for you now?” Cliff asked. There were no secrets in Onllwyn and both Hefina and Siȃn had told him about Gethin’s mother.

Jonathan selected a bakestone and broke it in half, giving half to Gethin. “Bakes, knits, occasionally embroiders. I never thought I’d have a mother-in-law, but it’s fairly pleasant when you get used to it.”

“It’s… different,” Gethin agreed, but despite how hard he was trying to hide his smile, he practically glowed with happiness. 

“What about your parents?” Cliff couldn’t help asking Jonathan. “Are they, uh, accepting?”

“Not in the least!” Jonathan said cheerfully. “They’ll never get over the shame that their only son has done more panto than he has Shakespeare. Ohhh, you meant the gay thing? Yes, they don’t care about that.”

“They don’t… care?” Cliff repeated. He knew there were some parents who loved their children despite their preferences, but simply not to care? His mind boggled.

Jonathan shrugged one shoulder. “I know I’m lucky, but you don’t need to look quite so shocked. A lot more people are a lot more decent than you’d expect.”

Gethin pushed the tin towards Cliff. “But it’s hard to remember that when you’re scared. Do your friends know why you’re up here, Cliff?”

Cliff was very grateful to have a bakestone to concentrate on, so he didn’t have to look at either of them for this conversation. “The women do,” he said, “and Dai, but I haven’t… the other men. No. Not yet.”

_Not ever_ , he meant, but he couldn’t say that to these two who had been blazing a trail so bravely for so many years. He’d researched the gay liberation movement the first time he went to Neath after LGSM visited and he’d been shocked to see pictures of people fighting this fight the same year that his brother had died, which felt like several life times ago now.

“That’s fine,” said Gethin, softly. Then, very clearly but kindly changed the subject. “What else have you got with you?” He nodded at the bag, which Cliff had put on the table.

“Oh, uh.” Cliff’s hands shook as he pulled the bag towards him, but that wasn’t unusual for him lately. Everything was more frightening than it used to be, but also more filled with life. “Lots of things, really. Presents for Jeff from the children, a couple of books that Dai thought Mark would like, and a Christmas present for Steph.”

“Ooh who from?” Jonathan asked with a glance at Gethin.

“From Gail, I think,” Cliff said, checking the tag. “Yes, from Gail.” He looked up when Jonathan laughed and Gethin shushed him. “What am I missing?”

“Nothing,” Gethin said firmly. “Ignore him. He sees lesbians everywhere he looks.”

“It’s an affliction,” Jonathan agreed. “Quite incurable.”

“How are they all?” Cliff asked. “Not uh, not the imaginary lesbians, but Mark and Mike and Ray and Reggie and the others?”

“They’re… all right, mostly,” Gethin said. “Joe’s got a boyfriend, Jeff’s taken up yoga, and he’s started doing video work at this buddhism centre where they run the classes. It’s good for him, I think.”

“He only started going there because he thought boys who did yoga would be bendier,” Jonathan said, shaking his head.

Cliff hid a laugh behind his hand. “Mark? And Mike?”

“Busy,” Jonathan said. “Mark’s throwing himself into everything, as per usual and Mike’s helping him, again as per usual.”

“Mark’s General Secretary of the Young Communist League now.” Gethin sounded very proud. “We had them all over for Christmas; it was lovely.”

“It was loud,” Jonathan grumbled, which earned him a very soft swat on the head from Gethin. 

“You love it when it’s loud. You got to do all your dances, and the neighbours only complained twice; it was _lovely_.”

They were like parents, Cliff realised suddenly, talking about their children’s achievements and reminiscing about the times they all spent together. He didn’t voice that comparison, not sure if it would be welcome, but he was pleased that all those young people had found somewhere safe to come home to, if they needed it.

He was pleased for himself too, not that he was anywhere near being a young person, but the moment Jonathan and Gethin had found out he was coming to London, they’d insisted he had to stay with them and they hadn’t heard a word against it.

Family, that’s what that was.

“Would anyone like a nightcap?” Gethin asked, standing up and stretching out his shoulders, as if he’d been sitting at this table a long time before Cliff and Jonathan interrupted him. “Tea, hot chocolate?”

“Tea, please,” said Cliff.

“Brandy, please,” said Jonathan.

“You’ll get a tea,” Gethin told him, “but if you sneak a shot of whiskey in, I’ll pretend to look the other way.”

Jonathan rocked his chair back onto its two back legs and tipped his head up for a kiss, which Gethin gave him as he passed. “My hero.”

Cliff didn’t need to watch them, this time. He could feel the warmth emanating from them regardless.

“All right, listen,” Jonathan said, thumping his chair back down onto all four legs with a bit of a crash.

Startled, Cliff looked up, and found Jonathan in the process of leaning forward and laying his hand over Cliff’s. 

Cliff looked down at where their fingers overlapped and felt strangely warm. “I’m sure that your gentleman friend is a very good boy, but you still need to be careful. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Being good has nothing to do with it,” Gethin said from the kitchen. “ _You’re_ good.”

“Apparently I’m good,” Jonathan said, as if he didn’t believe it. “All right, I’m sure that your gentleman friend is very careful and meticulous and considerate, but none of that matters, you’ve still got to be _careful_.”

Cliff did not understand this conversation, until suddenly he did. It wasn’t the words that helped, because those were not clear, but the unusual seriousness in Jonathan’s expression made something click in his brain. 

He spluttered.

“I’m not going to _have sex_ with him.” He lowered his voice in the middle even though there was no one here who would be shocked. “We’re going to dinner and then I’m getting the train home. We’re not… it’s not...”

“Condoms,” Jonathan said, as if he hadn’t heard. “We’ve got lots, we’ll give you some before you go tomorrow. You use them for _everything_ , all right?”

“We won’t be… it won’t be an issue,” Cliff said, feeling absurd. What a thing to be arguing with with a man almost young enough to be his own child. 

“Maybe not tomorrow,” Jonathan said, sounding as if he didn’t believe that, “but eventually it will be, and it’s really important.”

“I…” Cliff was still flustered but he didn’t want to argue anymore. It felt good, sort of, that Jonathan cared enough to put him through this conversation, even if it was also humiliating. “All right. Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Jonathan nodded, and sank back into his seat looking satisfied. “Good, good,” he said. “Now, where’s that nightcap?”

Later that night, tucked up under two duvets on Jonathan and Gethin’s very comfortable sofa, Cliff found that he couldn’t stop smiling.

He hoped that dinner worked out well tomorrow, he really did, but he had the feeling that even if it didn’t, he’d gained something tonight. 

For the first time in his life, he felt as if he truly belonged, and that wasn’t nothing. That was marvellous, in fact.

**Author's Note:**

> Some things:  
> \- Obviously Cliff's date goes well.  
> \- Jeff Cole really is now Buddhist, although I can't say whether it had happened by 1986 and it almost certainly wasn't because of bendy yoga boys. He now works for the Triratna Buddhist Community and has the Buddhist name Upekshapriya.  
> \- Gay's the Word really was raided in 1984 on suspicion of supplying pornography. The charges were dropped in 1986.


End file.
